Angels Fear To Tread
by Jessica Marsh
Summary: You knew he would do anything to cheat death, but you never knew just how far he would go to do it. Pre-Shadow Court Reaver, one-shot.


His breath is hot on your skin as he leans in closer. A violent tremble tears through your body; your breath hitches in your throat.

"My, my," he whispers, voice smooth and sultry and ever so horribly cocky as ever, even as it purrs so quietly, so enticingly in your ear. "Aren't we a tad excited?"

The cool mockery is impossible to miss. Your breath escapes you in a heavy sigh as his hands finally fall on your hips, cradling them close in tender touch even as that roguish sneer forms on his lips; lips perfectly shaped and ready to touch, to kiss, at any moment of desire.

You bear a sudden image of those same lips, smiling boyishly as he smoothes back his ever-unruly black locks; before that cold hardness started to shine in his eyes, and that little sneer that always made your heart melt, well… now it makes your heart stop.

"You've changed," you hiss, before you even think to censor yourself.

His hands stop their idle caresses, and he pulls away. The sneer is gone. In its place is a dark scowl. He somehow looks years older; but you know it has only been mere days since you saw him last, when you snuck him into your bedroom while your parents were out at the midwife's anniversary dinner and the house was empty.

"Changed?" he repeats, and the iciness in his once sweet voice sends shards of glass into your frantic heart. "You think I've changed? Do you have any idea what I've gone through to _make _this change?"

You start to back away, but dread—and a chair, squeaking on the polished wooden floor as you bump it—stops you short. "Oh, Avo, what have you done?" you ask, breathless. Your fingers grip the back of the chair as he moves toward you, fluid as water, hand moving to his sides—where he kept his bow and his cutlass.

He would never hurt you. You knew that. And still the sight of his restless hands, twitching at his sides, and those calculating dark eyes resting, unblinking, on your face, make terror run in sharp jolts through your body.

He loves you. He would never hurt you. He promised to never hurt you, lying under the stars of the beach port, holding hands on the loose, gravelly sands as the soft breath of the open sea kissed your bare cheeks.

His hands move away from his sides, and a breath you don't realize you have been holding escapes your lips in a tentative breath. He brushes his hair off his forehead in the same way he had been doing for years; the way that always made you stop what you were doing and watch with a tender rosebud smile when he wasn't looking. But this time, it was different. This time, the agitation in that simple movement makes his hands jerky and his lips twitch with an imminent glower.

"I came back only for you," he whispers, his voice little more than a tight hiss. He takes another step forward; you flinch and press back against the chair. "They said I had to leave. But I risked it. I came for _you_. We can start a new life. There's a port not too far from here; we can begin a new life there."

You shake your head. "But we're already in a port. I don't understand; why do we have to leave? Why do _you _have to leave? Who said you had to?"

"I can't tell you!" he suddenly roars, and you twist around the chair and take cover behind the table as he kicks over a small chest in rage. "Do you not think I would if I had the choice? I _don't_. So just come with me. I love you, and you know that. Please. It's for your own good. For both of us," he amends, panting slightly as he holds out his hand in invitation.

You scrutinize his hand. That hand; you use to love running your fingers over it, admiring the lines from carving bows and working the strings. It looks evil now. "You have to explain what is going on before I make any decisions," you say, and the hand retreats.

"I can't," he whispers, and there he is, the boy you fell in love with, open and exposed for the whole world to see. "Fear is no longer something to worry about, pet, and I want to share that freedom with you. But if you refuse, there is nothing I can do. I only wanted…" He struggles to come up with words; that has never happened to him before. You watch him with increasing wariness as he stoops to correct the fallen chest. The slight thump of the wood setting on the floor is the only sound in the house for a long moment. "I only wanted your redemption," he whispers, finality laced into his sweet voice. He looks up at you, and you see the bare honesty in his eyes for only a second before he shakes his head and turns away to the door.

"I love you," you say, but it's too late. He is gone.

Your little sister comes down the stairs and asks where he's gone, that nice boy from down the street? You ignore her, mute and stunned by his erratic—well, more than usual—behaviour, and you gently lower yourself onto the chair that had once served as your shield.

_Fear is no longer something to worry about_.

Fear is always present. You know this. Reading the psalms of Avo always showed you that Skorm was something to fear, so shouldn't that exist?

But he had never believed in _that _kind of fear.

His fear was death.

Your fingers twist in your lap as you realize what he has done. The only way he could be unafraid of death was if he cheated it somehow. But the only way to _redemption _was to follow in Avo's word.

Something he would not do.

"Impossible," you whisper, but look out the window anyways, hoping to catch a glimpse of the man you love. The streets are empty of his formidable presence. He is gone, and you can feel it etched into your very bones.

At night, when darkness descends on the world and as you lay awake in your bed, listening to the peaceful silence of Oakvale, the shadows come.


End file.
